And Forever
by Rosethorn2
Summary: Harry Potter was not having a good day. "Not having a good day" being a definate understatement. Oh, it had started out innocently enough...Slash!
1. In Which a Bad Day Happens

**Notes:** All right…this is my second _Harry Potter_ story thus far…I liked the pairing of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy as well as the HP/SS, so I wanted to write a story using this pairing. I'm using the whole Veela scheme—with a slight twist:

1. This takes place _after_ Hogwarts, i.e.: they're all grown up.

2. Voldemort's dead and all that stuff. Don't know if I'll include Sirius' death (as the fifth book dictates), just because I'm not overly fond of said book…

There is another twist with the Veela thing, but that takes place in the story proper, and I don't really want to spoil it.

**Warnings:** Shounen ai/yaoi/slash/two guys in love—with each other. (gasp) The horrors! Anyways, if this isn't for you, go elsewhere.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Never will be mine—quite frankly, I don't want it. All the publicity and deadlines and…Ahem. _Harry Potter_ belongs to J. K. Rowling and all those lovely publishing and movie companies—and anyone else that I haven't listed.

**Pairings:** Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley…and anyone else I might throw in later.

**Dedication:** This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful beta Lena. You rock, girl!!

And Forever…

By Rosethorn

Chapter 1: In Which a Bad Day Happens

Harry Potter was not having a good day. "Not having a good day" being a _definite_ understatement. He currently was standing on the side of a street, dripping wet and shivering, waiting for said street to clear enough so that he could cross. About ten minutes or so later, he managed to cross the—rather busy—street over to a local pub (muggle, thankfully). On the way, he reflected on the days "events" that had managed to so utterly _ruin_ his day.

First had been that incident with that Death Eater faction. Oh, it had started out innocently enough. He had insomnia left over from the rather gruesome battles with Voldemort all those years ago, and it was nothing strange to find himself sitting in an armchair reading a book. However, this rather domestic scene (although at an odd time), was interrupted—rather rudely, Harry thought—by said Death Eater faction.

For all that Voldemort was dead—killed a year after Harry graduated—many of his followers were not. Since he was the "lucky" one to "top the Dark Lord", the now "leaderless" followers _conveniently_ targeted him.

'Leaderless. Right. As if today wasn't planned. Leaderless or no, I don't see those fools gathering around saying "I'm bored. Hey! Let's go try to kill Harry Potter again!" "Yeah! That's a terrific idea!" Sure. They had my flat address for Merlin's sake! That thing's impossible to get, unless Ron and 'Mione went Death Eater on me…' The green-eyed man thought derisively. The attack had taken place when most sane people would have been asleep—1:00 a.m. Harry however, never being one to suffer from sanity, was wide awake, wand in hand, hexes on the tip of his tongue. The trio of wizards—Voldemort's finest, Harry had commented dryly as they were being taken away—were a bit…"surprised" to see their target definitely able to defend himself against the attack.

He had cheerfully informed them that "insomnia" _did_ mean that one did _not_ sleep—at all. Period. He then proceeded to knock one unconscious and disable the other two (although he _did_ lose half the flat in the process. So much for telling the landlord that he was a quiet man.) After calling Ron through the floo system—and having the very irritable auror come, rant at the Death Eaters for picking an ungodly hour to attack, and then rant at _Harry_ for living in a "bloody muggle city", then grumble his way back to the Ministry (Death Eaters in tow)—Harry sat down on an over-stuffed chair…only to have it collapse beneath him, causing his head to hit the floor rather painfully, giving him one hell of a migraine.

While trying to fight off said migraine, he decided that he might want to restore the walls and ceiling to his main room and kitchen (thank heavens he lived on the top floor!), as the flat might be a bit less drafty that way. After completing that task, he set up new wards around his floor and, making sure there were no other attackers, went back to his bedroom to finish his book, which had been spared any damage, although he was a bit peeved to see that he had lost his place. After finding his place in the book again, he read for a few minutes, only to find that he was falling asleep.

He was rudely awakened around seven by his phone. His boss at the local grocer was calling, wondering where he was, as his shift had started an hour previous. The green-eyed man quickly explained that he'd had a break-in last night and had consequently gotten to sleep late. His boss, a woman in her late 30's, being the caring and understanding woman that she was, told him that she understood completely, but if he didn't get his butt moving, there would be hell to pay. He thanked her, hung up, and dashed to the washroom. 20 minutes later, he was showered, dressed, and out the door—just in time to miss his bus. Resigning himself to the 30-minute walk (in the rain no less), he made his way over to Betty's Grocer. Betty, his boss, smiled at him and inquired about his welfare before sending him off to the back rooms for inventory—as punishment for being late.

Harry left the grocer around four and absently noted that it had stopped raining. Making his way down the street, a rather un-courteous driver managed to soak him thoroughly when the vehicle drove through a puddle—though the puddle was out of the way of the car, he had reflected ruefully. Needless to say, the "Boy-Who-is-Now-the-Man-Who-Lived" was _not_ having a good day.

'What next,' he thought to himself sourly, as he sat down at the bar and ordered himself a pint of brandy. He began to take a sip when a muffled curse—the muggle variety—to his right caused the now frustrated man to pause. Glancing over in the general direction of the cursing, he managed to spot a head of dark brown hair with a startlingly familiar eye color…staring right at him. The eyes held recognition, disdain, and a touch of fear.

'I had to ask,' he moaned internally. 'But wait…Draco had…blonde…' Harry's thoughts swam in confusion. The eyes, the silver eyes were the same…but dark brown hair? He cautiously made his way over to where the other man was sitting, ignoring his mind's frantic screaming to run the opposite direction and move—again. He had been planning to move to New Zealand at some point anyways, right? In any rate, he finally reached his destination—only to find that his quarry had vanished. Dis-apparated, most likely.

'Lovely.' No, Harry Potter was _not_ having a good day. Quickly finishing his brandy, Harry walked towards his bus stop—just in time to see the back-end of said bus turn the corner. Sighing he trudged onward towards his flat. After getting splashed again by what Harry swore was the same driver, he finally reached his flat. He climbed the many stairs (as the lift was naturally broken), he fumbled around for his key before realizing that he'd left it at the grocer. He definitely wasn't having a good day. He walked back _down_ the stairs and back towards the grocer, taking a rather dim view on the fact that it had started raining again. By some miracle, his keys were there, but a note was also attached to them.

"Potter," it read. "Meet me at Claire Park tomorrow. Three p.m. Try not to be late. DM" Pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off another headache, Harry groaned inwardly.

'And now it would appear that tomorrow will be hellish as well." Taking the note and keys, he walked back to his flat noticing that while the rain had stopped, a rather suspicious car was coming up the street. Sure enough, he was quickly drenched again. 'Today _really_ isn't my day.'

ooOOooOOoo

Draco apparated into his flat, leaned on the front door, and sighed. All that ran through his head were thoughts of the familiar features of one Harry Potter. Appearance-wise, Potter hadn't changed overly. The only drastic changes were of his height—about five feet, eleven inches (compared to Draco's own six foot, two inches)—and that Potter had filled out some. Naturally Draco had observed much of this during their years at Hogwarts, but it was one thing to see a person every day and only subconsciously register the changes. It was another thing entirely to see someone after a decade or so and actually _see_ the changes.

Merlin only knows that Draco, himself, had changed. His blonde hair, fair complexion, and silver eyes not only marked him as a Malfoy, but a Veela as well. During the long war with Voldemort, many Veela flocked to him because of their persecution from "ordinary wizards", thus giving Veela a rather dark reputation—particularly with the "light" side of the war. Part-Veela, like the Malfoy family, were not excluded either (although they weren't exactly popular to begin with).

Not wanting to be subservient to a lunatic, (and seeing a losing battle for Voldemort), Draco decided to seek asylum from Dumbledore, who granted it—in exchange for information on Voldemort, his father, and anything else that might help the Order, which made Draco ever-so popular with the Death Eater crowd. As the war ended, he became more and more persecuted for his heritage (Malfoy and Veela), on one side, and for deserting what was considered to be his "destiny" on the other. Finally, after being near-missed three times in one day, Draco decided to magically change his appearance so that he looked as un-Veela and Malfoy-ish as possible. The only thing that marked him as either now were his eyes, which could not be disguised by magical _or_ muggle means.

Speaking of Veela…"it" had resurfaced, "it" being the Pull. All Veela and part-Veela experienced the Pull sometime after their sixteenth birthday, though the more diluted the blood, the weaker the Pull. The Pull was the feeling that occurred when a Veela would find a candidate for his or her mate. Contrary to popular belief, Veela had maybe three or four possible candidates for a mate—though once Mated, the Veela's eyes would never wander, as Veela are unfailingly devoted to their mate.

Although his years after his sixteenth birthday, while at Hogwarts, Draco had felt the Pull, though not at its full, devastating effect. For the most part, he could ignore it, but every so often it got the better of him, forcing him to hole up in his dorm room until it had passed. He didn't want to worry about a mate with all the uncertainties with Voldemort.

'Not to mention that the candidate appeared to be from Gryffindor, which was not my favorite house…not that they would even talk to me,' Draco thought to himself with a sad, ironic smile. 'Though the "Golden Trio" and I had made a truce by the middle of seventh year.' Which was how he knew that one of his candidates was from Gryffindor, since the only time he felt the Pull was when he was "interacting" with Granger, Weasley, and Potter.

'And after this evening, it appears that the candidate was Potter. Fate has a strange sense of humor. I never liked irony.' The Pull to Harry had been the only occasion he'd ever felt it, which was unusual.

'But then, when has anything involving _me_ been normal? Or Potter for that matter!' Running a hand through his hair (and noticing it was trembling slightly), he winced as he discovered a knot. After untangling that, he decided that the best thing for his nerves at the moment would be something to distract his hands, so that he could think. The piano would do. He sat down in front of his "piano", which was really an electric keyboard, considering that first, he didn't have the room, and second, pianos were rather expensive, and he didn't dare use any money from the Malfoy account, as his persecutors either thought him dying or dead. Draco felt it kinder—to him at least—not to disabuse them of either notion.

'Staying alive is nice…' His mind then drifted back to the note he'd left for Harry on his keys. 'Which was pure luck that his employer is such a gossip…' He had seen the other man's owl, "Earwig" or some similar name, going to the grocer. Following it, he had, upon arriving, overheard the manager of the store complaining about Harry leaving his keys behind again. Getting a small smile on his face, Draco decided to leave a note for his ex-rival…one that he would be _certain_ Harry would see.

'Now all that's left is to get ready.' Soon finishing the piece he was playing—Bach's "Toccata and Fugue in D Minor"—he got up and noted that the light on his answering machine was blinking. Draco raised an eyebrow before pressing the button.

"Draco!" the panicky voice of one Blaise Zabini filled the air. "Where are you?! Damn you, this is no time for playing games! Oh hell. I'll call back later." The machine beeped. There were three more messages similar to the first. Draco stood, a bit shaken.

'The normally unflappable Blaise panicked? I think I need to sit down.' Blaise had been, up until that point at least, a rather calm, unshakeable rock that Draco could depend on. Rarely would anything it seemed, got to Blaise. For the man in question to get upset meant something dire must have happened. Hesitantly, the now brunette picked up the phone and dialed. It picked up on the first ring.

"Zabini," came the curt response. Draco swallowed.

"Blaise?" There was a sharp intake of breath. Draco braced himself for the storm.

"Draco?! Thank the gods!" Draco's eyebrows flew up higher.

'And now he's acknowledging divine beings—who are you, and what have you done with Blaise Zabini?'

"Where the _hell_ have you _been_?!" Blaise sounded furious now. Draco winced.

"At the pub down the street, why?" Draco could almost see Blaise's left eye starting to twitch, as it was wont to do when Blaise got agitated.

"The pub," Blaise stated flatly. "You're telling me I got the whole bloody department worried because you were at a pub?!" Draco winced again. His friend had quite a temper, and although it normally never frayed, when it did…

"Well, if you'd tell me what has happened…"

"What has…" Blaise trailed off, as though not believing what Draco was saying. "There was only a Death Eater faction attack on a muggle flat two blocks from you! _That's what bloody happened_!!" Draco swore, before grilling his friend for details. An hour later, he hung up the phone, relieved by the fact that at the present time he didn't need to move—again. Although he _had_ been looking at New Zealand as a nice getaway…

'Thank Merlin that I don't have to move there just yet. I've just gotten everything _un_packed too.' Flopping down onto a chair, Draco's mind returned to the note he had left for one Harry Potter. A small, smug smile graced his lips.

'Despite the Death Eater bit, today has been a rather good day…Tomorrow looks to be interesting as well…'

ooOOooOOoo

All for now! I'm working on chapter two as we speak. Let me know what y'all think!!

Cheers!

Rosethorn


	2. In Which the Rule of Three is Discussed

**Notes:** Here is the (hopefully) long-awaited for chapter two.

**Warnings:** Shounen ai/yaoi/slash/two guys making out. If that bugs you, go away.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. No money made.

And Forever…  
By Rosethorn

Chapter 2: In Which the Rule of Three is Discussed

"Hey, Betty?" Harry ventured from the stockroom where he was sorting through cans of peas and corn. Why anyone would _buy_ canned peas _or_ corn, much less _eat_ it was beyond him, but it sold, so there he was. He grimaced at the picture on one can, as it looked like the particular can was slightly past its prime—so the picture looked particularly gruesome.

"Yes, dear?" The woman in question popped her head around the corner, blinking owlishly in the bright light.

"I need to leave early today," Harry began sheepishly. The woman's eyebrows flew up in surprise. She knew that the younger man rarely was late and rarely took time off, but that didn't stop her from ribbing him about it when the rare occurrence happened.

"After yesterday you're asking to leave early?!" she asked in mock disbelief. The green-eyed man brought a hand to the back of his neck nervously, not picking up on the humor in Betty's tone.

"Er, well, you see…There's some unexpected stuff that came up yesterday…" _Having Death Eaters breaking into my "secret" flat…_ "Being broken into…" _Having everything that could possibly go wrong do so…_ "Having the public transit not work…" _And having the bane of my existence at Hogwarts show up…_ "And an old friend of mine from school arrived unexpectedly," he finished lamely. At that point, Betty was shaking with silent laughter at her employee's rather pitiful expression and tone.

"You convinced me, Harry," she said, her laughter coming out in small chuckles. Harry, torn between relief at getting the time off or righteous indignation at the laughter, simply stood there for a few moments. Relief quickly won out however, and he found himself laughing with her. After they had managed to calm themselves, Betty calmly asked what time he needed to leave. Pausing, Harry struggled to remember the note.

_Was it one or two that the note said? Well…Claire Park is right down the street, so if it _is _at one, I can get there fast…Besides, it won't kill me to get there early._ Pleased with himself for making the decision so quickly, he turned to Betty and told her he'd be leaving at one o' clock. Considering Harry's shift was over at three, the time he requested was reasonable enough that Betty didn't complain—much. She nodded before walking back into the store proper. Harry sighed with relief. He then flicked a glance at the remaining cans—creamed corn this time, he noted with revulsion—and grimaced. Resigning himself to his fate, he resumed stalking cans on the shelf.

Amazingly enough, time flew by fairly quickly, and soon it was nearing 1:00. Making sure he remembered his keys this time, Harry quickly rushed out of the door, calling a hurried good-bye to his boss—who remarked that it was as though the green-eyed man was on his way to meet an old girlfriend. Harry merely rolled his eyes, closing the door behind him.

The trip to the park was brief and altogether rather uneventful. Anti-climatic really, considering. Particularly after the previous day—not that he was particularly upset by the calm. Far from it! He was positively delighted to be having a better day (stocking shelves of canned goods not included). Wandering about the park, he realized that his meeting must have been at two, rather than one, as it had been approximately twenty minutes past the top of the hour, and he had yet to see hide nor hair of one Draco Malfoy. And one thing that Malfoy was never—at least when they were year mates—was late. Ever.

'Early for once,' he thought to himself somewhat proudly. Spotting a bench close by, he took a seat, staring at a small duck pond in front of him. He noticed a few others by the pond—mostly parents and small children, though there were a few elderly people. Most of the children were either feeding or chasing the poor ducks, much to his amusement. All in all, it was a rather peaceful, pleasant, and domestic scene.

"Harry Potter?" a voice behind him asked, shaking Harry from his thoughts. He turned in time to see two men standing behind him. Smiling slightly, he nodded.

"How may I help you gentlemen?" No reply was given, but he spotted two drawn wands suddenly pointed in his direction. The green-eyed man sighed. "I see."

'Peaceful, idyllic setting,' he reflected ruefully. 'Of course all hell has to break loose.' Quickly jumping away, he retrieved his own wand. 'Let the games begin,' he thought grimly. Soon, he was dodging flung hexes and curses.

'Got to get them away from the muggles.' He frantically glanced around and spotted a rather secluded section of the park that was forested. He then began drawing his two attackers towards the park by playing "hit me! I'm a target!" with them. He was pleased to notice that they followed quite nicely.

Deciding that they were well enough out of sight, Harry decided that he was done being a target and began to attack in earnest. Before long, all three men were growing weary, both sides sustaining wounds.

'Funny,' Harry thought absently as he dodged a particularly nasty hex. 'I thought bad things came in threes.'

* * *

"Hm…" Draco uttered, glaring at his watch nervously. Three had come and passed about ten minutes ago, and there was no sign of one Harold Potter. He glanced around again, rather hating being in such an exposed and open place. Of course, the fact that he was an impatient sort probably had something to do with it as well.

'I see that Potter has not changed since school,' he thought to himself sourly. 'He _still_ can't be on time for anything. Hell, he was late to his duel with Voldemort, so really, why should I be surprised?' Sighing with impatience, Draco leaned back against a tree, trying to ignore the nervous feelings in his chest—and the butterflies in the pit in his stomach. 'Bloody Potter.' Sighing again, he swiftly crossed the grass to a vacant bench and sat down, deciding to give the other man until half past. It was then that he heard noise akin to a rather heated battle. That wasn't the part that surprised him however, as there had been a school bus with some children that had just passed by and stopped, and some of the children had made some serious threats back and forth.

No, what _surprised_ him was the fact that _this_ battle was making his magical sense (honed from years of defending himself from the remainder of Voldemort's followers), was going wild—particularly the sense that said "**Warning: Death Eaters nearby!**". He decided for his personal survival and safety that he'd leave before said Death Eaters caught wind of him. Besides, if felt as if they were only fighting each other—

'Oh hell!' the former blonde cursed silently, feeling the Pull coming from the forest where the fighting was taking place. 'Looks like I get to get involved after all,' he drawled irritably. Withdrawing his wand, he grimly made his way over to the battleground. What he saw that was taking place made him pause for a moment. There stood the very person he had been waiting for—dueling with three Death Eaters. That, in and of itself, wasn't really so surprising. The fact that one of the robed figures looked and sounded rather familiar is what _really_ got his attention. Pansy Parkinson, Draco's friend and—coincidentally—Blaise's secretary.

'Huh,' he thought dazedly to himself, feeling a rather keen sense of sadness and betrayal. 'Guess I found the leak.' Shaking his head, he aimed his wand on one of the other Death Eaters, who was trying to attack Potter from behind. A rather grim smiled formed on his face as he uttered a hex. He missed, but it caused all four combatants to freeze. He watched as Potter adjusted his head slightly in order to see just who—or what—was doing the attacking. The only acknowledgement the man gave was a short nod, which Draco returned stiffly. Taking advantage of the shock of his opponent, the green-eyed man fired another curse at one of the puzzled Death Eaters before him, and the battle suddenly resumed. This time however, Potter just had Pansy and—well, just Pansy, as he had just knocked out the other one—to deal with rather than both of them. Draco wasn't exactly worried. He turned all his attention to his own opponent, who was leering at him.

"Say die, traitorous fool," the man hissed, flinging a rather nasty curse in his direction. Draco dodged hastily, flinging back a return hex.

"Fine. _Die_ why don't you!" he snarled back, after another string of poorly aimed hexes came his way. He began to use the more lethal spells in his arsenal—not all of them being strictly legal. Soon, the Death Eater was sporting several bleeding, smoking wounds, and was beginning to radiate fear. Just as Draco was about to throw another hex in the man's direction, his opponent fell over. Blinking, the Veela looked up and locked eyes with Potter, who gestured towards the now fallen Death Eater.

"I finished with the other one already," Potter stated calmly. Draco merely raised a brown eyebrow.

"I can see that," he drawled, looking around the other man, spotting Parkinson laying prone next to her comrade. Unconscious, not dead. "Am I to assume that the Ministry will be here any minute?" A corner of Potter's mouth quirked upwards slightly.

"No," he replied blandly. "Just one rather over-worked Auror, I'm afraid." He paused before grinning sheepishly. Draco schooled his expression accordingly. It really wouldn't do for him to start drooling in front of the other wizard.

'Bloody Veela genetics,' he grumbled.

"By the way, Malfoy," Potter said, effectively taking the silver-eyed man away from his thoughts. "I really was on time today," he finished—right in time for a bright flash to appear behind him. While Draco struggled to clear his sight, he heard Potter greet one Ronald Weasley.

"Bloody hell, Harry," the redhead sighed with exasperation. "Twice in two days? What, you figure that I don't have enough to do already?" Seeing his friend's sheepish smile, Ron threw up his hands in the air before turning to survey the damage.

"Trouble just follows me?" Harry asked meekly. The Auror turned and fixed him with a glower.

"'Trouble just follows me' my freckled _arse_," he groused. "It doesn't just follow you, Harry, it puts up a bloody _convention_ with big signs and neon lights all saying 'Harry Potter this way'!" Draco began snickering at the mental image, causing Ron to whirl around in surprise. Spotting the former blonde, he groaned and turned back towards Harry. "_And_ a muggle in need of an _Obliviate_, Harry?" he whined. "They don't keep you busy enough." Draco gave the redhead a rather cool stare, pointedly ignoring Harry's snickers in the background.

"Not quite, Weasley," he drawled, holding up his wand to show that he was not a muggle. Ron blinked a few moments before opening and closing his mouth a few times to add to that wide-eyed, innocent country-boy look that he so detested. Rolling his eyes, Draco put his face closer to Ron's. "Take a picture, Weasley," he whispered to the redhead. "They last longer." The auror abruptly pulled his head back and glared at the former blonde.

"Great. A Malfoy wannabe. Just what I needed today, really," he muttered under his breath as he began levitating the still-unconscious Death Eaters. "Do me a favour, Harry," he growled, stalking past the wizard in question. "Next time you get into trouble, call Hermione. Or Percy. Or the bloody Minister for all I care! Just—" he cut off his rant, sighing. "Just try not to get into trouble for a few days, okay, mate?"

"Can't handle the strain, Weasley?" Draco asked, making his face as innocently concerned as possible. "You might want to talk to your superiors about an extended sabbatical."

"Sorry, Ron. I'm really not trying to trouble you," Harry cut in, seeing the redhead about to cast hex after hex on the other man. The apology cut through the auror's rage, and he glanced back at his friend.

"I know, Harry, really. I just hate having to wonder if you're all right every time I come out here at your call. I'm starting to consider assigning a bodyguard to you at this rate, and I know you don't want that. But I can't keep coming out here, mate," he replied.

"I know, Ron," Harry replied, looking rather chagrined. "I really don't mean to cause trouble, and I appreciate you still overriding the bodyguard thing. I would really hate to have to get someone fired because they were assigned to me…" Ron nodded.

"You would, too," he said dryly. "And I'd make sure it was someone that I really wanted to see gone. Speaking of gone, I need to go and get these three to the Ministry before they wake up. I never was good at 'stupify' as you'll recall," he said, making a face. Sighing again, Ron ran a hand through his hair and looked around for any witnesses. Making sure to have all three of the Death Eater's touching him, he activated a portkey to the Ministry to finish "processing" the prisoners—leaving Harry and Draco staring after him, then at each other. Harry finally decided to break the silence by running a nervous hand through his hair.

"So…Malfoy. How have you been?" The other wizard stared at him, an eyebrow rising at the rather idiotic opening statements.

"Brilliant repartee, Potter," he drawled. "We now know why you didn't go for politics." Harry's nervousness vanished at the barb. He wondered for a moment why he was at all concerned on how he acted to _Draco Malfoy_ of all people. The man before him was the same prat that he went to Hogwarts with, only taller and brunet-er. And still a royal pain in his ass.

"Look, Malfoy, I didn't have to meet you here," he said through gritted teeth. "I only came because you so politely asked me to." Draco had the courtesy to look slightly embarrassed.

"Yes, yes," he replied impatiently, waving a hand in the air. "I know I called you out here." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Thank you for the concession," he drawled. "The note that you left me stated as much. So, now the question is _why_ you wanted me out here to see you." A thought suddenly occurred to him, causing the scarred wizard to recoil slightly. "Oh, God. You're here to get revenge for something stupid from Hogwarts, aren't you."

"Oh for—" Draco started to yell, before closing his eyes and gritting his teeth in exasperation. "That's right, Potter, the world's out to get you. I bloody tracked you down through the bloody _muggle_ world all so that I could wreak revenge on you for something inane that happened back in our school days _eleven bloody years ago_!! Get _over_ yourself, will you!" Potter flinched back slightly, stung.

"Well excuse me for worrying, but you and I never exactly hit it off on any circumstances during school and out of it. What the hell else was I _supposed_ to think?" he bit back.

"Didn't the fact that I helped eliminate those Death Eaters back there instill _any_ kind of good will?" Draco returned, ready to just throw up his hands and walk away, Pull or no Pull. Harry opened and closed his mouth a few moments, trying to think of a comeback. He then began to think about the events previous, a sheepishly embarrassed expression appearing on his face.

"So I'm not always that logical," he muttered, looking down at his shoes and telling his face to keep the blood in normal circulation. The other wizard raised an eyebrow.

"Gee, you think?" he drawled. Raising a hand to forestall the angry retort that he knew was about to be directed his way, he continued. "But that is neither here nor there. I did not come to fight with you. I actually wanted to talk to you about something that did happen in school. But _not_—" he said, glaring at Harry who was about to interrupt, "anything that requires revenge. It actually concerns my heritage and what that has to do with you. To start, this isn't common knowledge and I wouldn't tell you except that I figured we were both adult enough to handle it."

"Well, gee, Malfoy, I didn't know you cared," Harry replied sarcastically. "Ah what the hell, I don't have anything pressing today. Do share what this all-impressive secret is." Draco favoured the man with a dirty look.

"As you know, my family has always been considered the ultimate in 'pureblood,'" he began, looking Harry's direction for confirmation. Seeing the other man's eyes roll, he continued, albeit with a bit more force. "Well, they were slightly mistaken. My family has interbred with some of the other magical species, mainly Veela."

"This has what to do with me, exactly?" Harry interrupted.

"I'm getting to that!" the former blonde snapped. Harry held up his hands in a placating gesture, motioning for Draco to continue. "In any rate, you did pay enough attention in class to know when Veela's interbreed with wizards, some of the traits remain, correct? Specifically those to mating?" Harry nodded slowly. "Good. Now, Veela's experience what is called the Pull. It draws us towards those who could potentially make good matches. Supposedly each Veela has two or three of those matches that are possible, and will just choose the best one for them. I've only ever experienced one Pull to a person in my life." Harry's face began to take on a rather peculiar expression, comprehension beginning to dawn. "In any rate, I only felt the Pull around three people who were always together while I was at Hogwarts, and slowly narrowed it down to one person—"

Harry groaned loudly, dropping his head into his hands, effectively interrupting. Draco glared at him for said interruption of his story.

"What the hell is it _now_, Potter?"

"I was right," the other wizard said into his hands. "Bad things _do_ come in threes!"

* * *

All for now. I'll try to get part three out as soon as I can, but life's a bit insane. Hope this part was a good one!

~Rosethorn

**Thank you-s:**

**cherrygash: **Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the first chapter. I hope the second one meets your standards as well.

**DemonRouge:** Thank you!! Here's chapter two!

**wolfawaken:** Thank you! Here it is, written and posted. Hope you enjoy what you have waited for.


	3. In Which Reflection is Needed

**Notes:** Back after a bit of a break. I'm not dead! Not making promises that I'll be updating super-quickly, but I'm not dead. As well as posting this chapter, I did rework a few things in the chapter previous. Nothing major—no plot points were harmed in thee editing of the chapter. Finally: please be advised that this story is not compliant with any of the books past the fourth, possibly the fifth.

**Warnings:** Two guys making out. If you don't like it, then please continue to ignore the warning posted on the other two chapters and keep reading.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it.

And Forever…  
By Rosethorn

Chapter 3: In Which Reflection is Needed

Harry sagged against his doorframe in relief. After today's rather startling revelations, all the wizard wanted was to get home, get out a bottle of something highly alcoholic, and get completely knackered.

"_So after a long process of elimination, I've come to the conclusion that you're the person that my Veela Pull is reacting to."_ Harry shuddered at the memory. It wasn't that he particularly _hated_ Malfoy any more. Far from it. By the time they had managed to graduate, he and the blond had reached a form of truce—mostly to the tune of "I'll ignore you if you'll ignore me."

"Alcohol is needed for any further reflection or contemplation of this…this…_thing_," Harry muttered as he closed his door and staggered to the kitchen. Ordinarily Harry frowned on using alcohol as a crutch to deal with one's problems, but when the problem was one of Malfoy proportions, one learned to bend the rules.

So, he was apparently mated to a part-Veela. There were some perks with that, right? Harry strained to find one besides that the Veela were supposedly loyal to a fault…along with being notoriously possessive and territorial.

Not drunk enough yet, he thought desperately. He flung open a cupboard and pulled out a bottle at random. Opening it, he swiftly took a healthy gulp, coughing slightly as it went a bit into his windpipe. The feeling of being less out-of-control of his world increased, and while Harry knew for damn sure that this was only a temporary solution to a rather large problem, he wanted to be able to process it without running starkers into the street, screaming at the top of his lungs. Which led him back to the problem at hand: potential Veela spouse.

His first reaction to Draco's bombshell had been one of total shock, followed by that slightly hysterical urge to laugh. He chose the better part of valor however, and opted to not sound like a hyena while Malfoy was instructing him on just what being a Candidate meant, along with the fact that he was less than pleased with the results.

"_Essentially, the choice is up to you," the former blond had said grimly. "It's not like _I _wanted it this way. But it is, and I would like to _try _and make the best of it. We managed a truce of sorts in Hogwarts after all. There must be _something _to build on from there." All this said with Harry blinking at him owlishly. _Harry quickly pulled himself away once more.

"Still not drunk enough," he murmured, voice starting to slur slightly. Up and down the bottle went once more. He walked with deliberate care towards his sofa and sat down heavily, careful not to slosh his precious liquor, as it was the only thing keeping him on the continent, much less the flat.

So what do you do when your former arch-nemesis from school comes by and tells you that not only is he part magical creature, but that side of him wants to be friendly with you, your emotions, and your privates, he mused, looking at the way the light played off the liquid in the bottle. Running at this point was still a viable option, but one that Harry rather detested. He had faced down _Voldemort_ for Merlin's sake! Some brunet with silver eyes wasn't about to phase him. Except that he did. Maybe it was the whole "mated" thing. Or maybe the whole "former arch-nemesis" thing.

I mean, if Voldemort came waltzing up to me one day, claiming that I was his chosen mate and that we needed to get all snuggly, I would have probably shot myself then and there, and hang the rest of the wizarding world! Harry contemplated his bottle once more, surmising that he was, in fact, reaching his goal of getting wasted if he could think about Voldy in a cheesy Valentine's Day setting with a ring-box in hand. But he was not drunk enough for the mental image that _that_ presented. Another gulp later, he was beginning to feel slightly more in-control.

So what to do about this mess…he thought wearily. Well, I can't exactly say "yes" or "no" without any proper research done on the subject, now can I? And I can't exactly go research it right now when I'm well on my way to getting drunk, he amended ruefully, glancing at the bottle in his hand. He took another swig.

As the room started to blur and weave together, Harry felt an absurd sense of pride at his accomplishment. He was well and truly pissed. Such a wonderful accomplishment must be met with another drink. As he gulped again from his now half-empty bottle, he reasoned that it would probably not disturb his inebriated state too much if he were to turn on his television. He quickly breezed past the channels before finding one that went along perfectly with his current mood. And if anyone thought that watching Red Dwarf reruns while plastered was a rather pathetic thing to be pleased about, well, Harry was too drunk to care.

* * *

"Well…" Draco sighed, sinking into an old, padded chair across from Blaise's desk. "I surmise that you have heard about the source of your leak." His friend looked at him from across stacks of paperwork, sticky notes, and the odd paperclip. Draco couldn't help his urge to smirk at the exasperated expression on the other wizard's face.

"What with Weasley marching himself in here, full stick up his arse, how could I have missed?" Blaise said, turning his attention back to a set of papers in his hand. "And didn't I want to slap that smarmy look of his face too." Draco chuckled at that. Blaise and Weasley had never been what one would call "friends." The brunet surmised that it had to do with former house-related grudges, and the fact that Blaise had started dating his sister a few years back. Personally, Draco thought the man had balls of steel to take on the whole Weasley clan for one girl. But then, he wasn't exactly one to talk. Blaise just had the Weasleys; _he_ had them and anyone who had read a wizarding newspaper to contend with.

"What I don't understand is how we didn't catch onto it," he began, forcing his thoughts back to the matter at hand. "Granted, she hid it well enough. She even threw you and Gin that engagement party last month!" He saw Blaise grimace at the reminder, and remembered that his friend and Pansy had been very close growing up. "Oh hell…I'm making a right mess of this, aren't I?" He ran a hand a hand through his hair, frowning as he encountered a knot. "How are you holding up with things?" Blaise blinked at Draco a moment, eyebrow raised in puzzlement.

"While I appreciate the concern, Draco, you need to remember that Pansy and I haven't exactly been 'close' for years now. Not since I broke things off with her, and especially not once I started dating Ginny," he replied, looking down at his hands. "That engagement party was more like a 'good-bye' party from her. Her way of showing me a final good time before she severed all contact, as it were." Draco frowned at this.

"Huh…Think she knew something about some future raids we weren't aware of? Or maybe a new leader heading up the ranks?" Blaise's eyes narrowed in thought, clearly picking up on where the other wizard's train of thought was heading.

"Well," he said at last, "Pansy wasn't stupid. She wouldn't have picked someone to back that she wasn't absolutely sure of. It's why she stayed neutral in the whole bit with the Dark Lord and Potter. We both know that she felt the same way that He Who Must Not be Named did about muggles and muggleborns. She just didn't see him winning that fight. And she hated Potter enough that she _wouldn't_ join his side. So whoever it is has a good bit of backing behind them to have convinced her that they have a chance."

"Which means more charisma than the Dark Lord did in those later years," Draco pointed out. "According to Snape, he was quite the charmer when he wanted to be. At least, he was before his attack on the Potters backfired. The only things that really sustained his spirit to survive so long were his iron will and his hatred—and I really think that's all that came back to him." His friend frowned in concentration.

"So all we know is that we have some new leader out there who has managed to reactivate use of the Dark Mark—because Pansy didn't have one from before—and we know that they are, roughly, a charismatic person who is re-inspiring attacks on Potter—as well as trying to unify what's left of You Know Who's forces." Blaise sighed. "In other words, we know there's a new leader, but they could be just about everyone." Draco nodded in grim agreement.

"What's worse, because Pansy turned to this new group, it means that they're actively recruiting. It's bad enough that someone has managed to fill the power vacuum in the Death Eaters, but now that they're trying to expand?" The brunet grimaced. Blaise started massaging the bridge of his nose, a sure sign to Draco that his friend was becoming very stressed.

"I suppose I'll need to give Snape a head's up," he said, reaching over to his parchment and quills. At Draco's incredulous look, he grinned. "They're treated with that one spell that Granger crafted when she began first her apprenticeship to become a Spell Crafte." Draco just looked at him blankly. Blaise muttered under his breath about oblivious morons before continuing. "Suffice it to say that anyone who decides to do some 'poking around' with this letter is only going to read about how much my grandmother loved Snape's last letter and wishes that he'd come and visit her." The other wizard snorted, but relaxed somewhat as Blaise penned out his letter, signing it with a flourish. Setting it aside for owl-post later, he turned back towards Draco, a small smirk playing at his lips.

"What?" Draco asked suspiciously. He knew that look on his friend's face. It usually told the recipient that Blaise knew something that either a, you didn't, or b, you were trying to keep secret.

"Oh nothing. Just wanted to know how the rendezvous with Potter went." Draco glared at him.

"Just bloody peachy," he muttered. "Who else knows? Well, Ginny, of course—"

"What do you mean 'of course?!'" Blaise broke in indignantly. "Are you implying that anything I know automatically passes on to Gin?"

"No, I'm saying that Ginny is remarkably good at reading when you're keeping something from her that isn't work-related. On top of which, I figure that you two have a healthy relationship, where you don't keep secrets from each other," the other wizard replied, rolling his eyes. Blaise crossed his arms sullenly over his chest, but refrained from protesting further. "So," Draco continued, "you wanted to know about my 'meeting' with Potter?" Blaise nodded. "Not much to tell. Ran into Potter, found said wizard in a battle with Death Eaters, took out one of said Death Eaters, exchanged words with the Weasel…"

"Uh huh," Blaise drawled. "You're expecting me to believe that you didn't have some _specific_ reason to talk to Potter. Oh wait! How silly of me. Of course you didn't! Because you two were closer than close at Hogwarts. The constant curses and death threats were just your way of showing affection, right?"

"There's no need to be a prat over it," Draco grumbled, eyes trained on his friend's desk. Blaise only kept staring at him, expression patiently waiting for the brunet to tell him what he wanted to know. And he knew that Draco would tell him. Something that, the former blond felt, really rankled. He decided to succumb to the inevitable and tell his friend what he wanted to know. Well, the abridged version at least. "All right, all right. I explained the whole bit about the Pull and the ramifications. He—understandably—didn't take it well, and looked decidedly ill by the time he apparated away." He sighed, suddenly feeling _very_ weary. He got so tired of fighting part of his nature. It didn't help that Potter had reacted in a very unflattering way. Then, to top all of it off, he had had to kill one of his best friends over something that had damn near killed him—and everyone else—the _last_ time. He looked up at Blaise with an expression bordering—for a moment—on despair. It all seemed so bloody _hopeless_.

"I know," his friend replied to the unspoken statement. He reached under his desk and pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey, along with two shot glasses. Draco gratefully accepted the offer, holding up his shot in a salute before downing the contents in one gulp. After sputtering a few moments, he gave the glass back to the other wizard, waving a hand when Blaise moved to refill it.

"Don't. If you do that, I'll not be able to apparate from here—not to mention that I'll be even more maudlin than I am now." Blaise nodded, gulping down his shot, then putting the bottle away. "Speaking of apparating," Draco began, getting up to retrieve his cloak.

"Before you leave," Blaise interrupted, "I just want to say that you should talk to him. Potter, I mean." Silver eyes stared at him incredulously. "I know that you think I'm daft, and maybe I am, but I still think you should talk to him. When you guys made that truce, you were almost friends. And Merlin knows that you both complement each other. I should know; I have to deal with the pair of you here…Look, just take this advice from me as a friend wanting to see another friend happy, fair?" Draco nodded slowly, still a little shell-shocked by Blaise's outburst. With a quick good-bye, he grabbed his cloak, walked though the maze of doors at the Ministry, and apparated as soon as he reached fresh air.

* * *

Hope that this chapter has helped with the wait—and may the next one not take forever.

Cheers!

~Rosethorn

**Thank you-s:**

**Ireina** **Kurotsuki: **Thanks!! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far and that you like the pairing. I hope that you still like the pairing after this chapter.

**Dezra:** Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed that line. It came to me when I was writing chapter one, and I just _had_ to use it.

**TorringMay:** Thanks!! I'm glad you like the characterization. It's something I work very hard on. As for good things coming in threes…well, the saying only refers to bad things, but I suppose good things could too.

**fifespice: **Thanks! Well…the aftermath of the revelation has been revealed. Well, part of it has anyways.

**animealeah: **Thanks!! Sorry about the wait for part three. I love writing humor, and Harry was the perfect straight man in this section.


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